


feeding frenzy

by orphan_account



Category: Fate/stay night (Visual Novel)
Genre: Animal Transformation, Cannibalism, Gen, No Plot/Plotless, kill me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-18
Updated: 2016-09-18
Packaged: 2018-08-15 16:48:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,959
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8064241
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: wanted to give this a happy ending, so basically: rin healed you and wiped your memory of the incident using her magic. thanks rin





	

Today, it's warm outside. The air is as sticky and languidly inconsistent as molasses-slow sun-melted ice cream sludge, and your skin is thick like mud from the cruel red heat. You're lounging in the homey forest behind your school, the sky syrupy like sweet honey slipping down warm toasted bread, with a worn book in your hand, tolerating the heat that your makes your back as runny as a spilled lipgloss bottle with little to no struggle. Late summer in Fuyuki is a silent milk-creamed stew of cottage cheese mushy softness, but everyone learns to endure the watery burn eventually, so it's all good. You do wish that you had a smoothie to cool you down, though.

After flipping through the flower-curled old yellowing pages of your book for a while, you realize that it's starting to get unbearably hot. Your skin feels as chunkily clotted as spoiled curdled milk, and your hands are starting to get as pig-greasy as hot, sizzling butter in a frying pan. The heat must have been caused by the tightly crowded space of the forest. You sigh, your mouth glistening wetly like soapy bubble pops of saliva, and close your book, putting your shoes back on before getting up to walk out of the forest.

Out of the corner of your ear, you hear a faint snarl.

It must be a stray dog or something of the like. You haven't seen any stray animals in any of the parks or forests lately though, so you feel as bit suspicious. Stray animals are often unpredictable and somewhat violent; they also can carry diseases such as rabies, too. You decide to be cautious and try to tip toe your way out of the candle-wax melting heat so as to not attract any attention, but after a few measly steps, you realize that the animal must've heard you, as the snarling becomes more closer and louder to your ears. It gets even hotter after that happens, everything mired and muggy like suffocation beneath mouthfuls of soppy swamp mud, your throat painfully narrowing itself like a skintight corset laced to the ribs. Your chest throbs like a sunburned heart, stubby fingers knotting themselves around the pulsing flesh and squeezing, choking your guts and organs as if they are a throat and neck ripe as an aching tomato for the taking. It hurts so badly, tears are welling up to your scorched eyes and you can't breathe anymore. Are you having a panic attack? You can't be, your body stings like a furious swarm of wasps too badly for it to be a mental reaction, so what's going on? Why are you --

Oh.

Crawling out from behind one of the trees is a monster. It looks like a man, it looks very much like a man, but its crawling on all fours like an animal and has too much eyes on the left side of its face for it be human. The eyes are pretty, with long and thick lashes curled about as tentatively and painstakingly together as a needle-knitted tapestry, and with irises that are as lurid and angrily red as fresh menstrual blood curiously rubbed on the pads of your fingers, but the pupils are disgusting, festering black and snakelike in their slit-thin slenderness. The thing is wearing clothes as well, its naked skin, which reminds you of a rotten egg, struggling desperately against the fabric that is ribboned around its deformed body. Hands are freakishly large, yellowing bones popping out through the layer of gnarled tissue. No shoes. A spear with rose-blood thorns threaded throughout the holes of the material like wound stitches, tightly pulled together and creating a baroque-artlike design in its unnerving finality. Normal mouth that is small and pretty and dusty pink, but there is a dog tongue slyly peaking through the teeth sharp enough to rip through the ribs of a cow. The agitated flutter of scared butterfly wings flittering near the shell of your buttermilk and buttercream ear. The smell of a diseased animal. I'm going to die, you think.

The monster has been staring at you the entire time. There's saliva dripping out of its mouth like vomit, and your stomach feels as if its stuffed full of raw meat trying to find a hole to crawl out of like an paste-clotted infestation of wriggling maggots. You're too terrified to feel confused about the fact that there is a humanoid thing right here, looking directly at you, and try to run as fast as you can out of the forest, your primal instincts kicking in after a few seconds, twigs snapping against the frenzied pressure of your dirty sneakers. Too slow; the monster leaps towards you and smashes you into the ground like a ragdoll made out of flimsy sun-baked straw. You feel something in your body break like a fragile translucent glass sculpture, and blood is starting to rapidly bloom out of your nose like a summer flower; judging by how terribly your upper half burns, you probably broke your arms, and maybe your ribs, too. Your brain is gooey honey bee balm slime. I'm going to die, you think once again, but the words are a lot more distant now. I'm going to be killed by some humanoid monster, and I don't want to be killed, I want to live really badly, so please, don't kill me, please don't let me die.

Those thoughts send your mind and body back to life. Your voice is as pith-light and wobbly-feeble as a quiet ghost, but your words, your last hope, still come out clearly anyway: "Don't kill me," you breathe. "Please don't kill me. I don't want to die."

The humanoid thing, who was just about to sink its jagged teeth into your soft neck, pauses. Perhaps it can understand you, or maybe it is just startled by the sound of your once-silent voice. Either way, you're glad. Your life has extended by just a few seconds, which is more than enough time to escape from the monster's grip. But before you can do that, your neck is carelessly grabbed by the thing's abnormally large hands. It chokes you before standing up, your throat sewing its fleshy chords and dune-hollow pipes shut like plump and rosy-peachy tortured lips, and then wraps one of its oddly angled arms around your china-delicate damaged waist, sniffing your neck with its fortunately normal-looking nose. Your head lolls back, hair tumbling down your body like discarded garbage, and you feel a nauseatingly warm wetness accumulate between your legs; you must've wet yourself out of sheer desperation and fear.

You hate this so much. You hate everything about this so, so much. The monster continues to sniff your neck in the same manner as a curious dog would while you whimper pathetically, tears beginning to well up in your eyes due to your lack of oxygen, until it gets bored with your lack of response and releases its hands from your neck, opting to sloppily kiss the tenderly bruised curve of the fractured body part instead. The soggy sensation is more than uncomfortable, with the monster-man's tongue eagerly dripping sopping saliva down the flesh of your throat, its shiny red mouth sucking on the sweating skin like how a baby would messily suck a bottle of fingertip-creamy hot milk. You squirm like a noodle and feverishly attempt to rip yourself from the thing's bone-squeezing grasp, but you can't, because its arms are wrapped around you too tightly, leaving you unable to move your waist. The monster narrows its multiple bloody eyes in what appears to be annoyance, or maybe it's something else, and abruptly stops kissing your aching neck. Opening its mouth full of sharp, sharp teeth, the thing bites into your throat, ripping your vocal cords out with a single swift and savage bite.

It hurts. You can't even describe the pain of having your throat brutally ripped open by a pair of jagged teeth; all you can say is that it hurts, really, really badly. You try to scream, but you can't; the only thing that comes out of your mouth is a bubble of blood, which bursts after a few seconds with a wet popping sound. The monster-man eats the juicy meat of your larynx frenetically, licking its lusty ruby red lips in satisfaction soon after consuming the small meal, and you realize that your vision is fading. Tiny little ballerinas clothed in black silk dance around the insides of your eyes, encouraging you to drown beneath the waves of filthy dirt-poisonous blood and sink into a dreamless lily white sleep. How depressing. You had wanted to live just a little bit longer, long enough for you to graduate high school and maybe go to a college located in one of the big cities, but it's too late for that; no miracle can or will save you now. The primitive part of your brain is screaming against death, refusing to die, but the more advanced part is numb like wrinkled fingers in an ice-cold bath, apathetically telling you to accept your unfortunate fate. The black algae is about to fully overtake your vision when, all of the sudden, you hear the opening of a stomach -- your stomach.

The grimy mud clears itself from your vision; your eyes are dull and filmy, but you don't see any of the blackness you once saw before. Looking down, you see that you are laying on your back like a wool-knitted puppet, your intestines lazily hanging out of your broken baby-skin-soft stomach. The wantonly exposed sponge-squishy flesh is the color of a blushing and romantic dwindling sunset powdered onto your blood-ridden wilted-flower-cracked lips, and the monster-man is eating it, slurping up the blood oozing like infected pus from the mushy and tender meat. Your internal organs must taste good to it in the same way that steak tastes good to you. Distantly, you think that you're probably dead already, and that your soul is just lingering to the scene of your harvesting, unable to pass on until somebody finds out who the murderer is or something corny like that, because you can't feel anything, anything at all. At least it's painless.

The humanoid man continues to gnaw your viscera apart, wetly devouring the pulpy chunks of meat with the grace of a rabies-diseased pig. You don't get to see it finish its meal though, because the filthy mired bacteria clouding and poisoning your mind swallows you hungrily, for good this time, right after you make your dazed observation.

___

You wake up in your bedroom, snuggled beneath the floral covers of your comfy bed. It's early morning, the fuzzy sun shyly peeking its waxen face through the half-closed binds hanging neatly from your small window. Grabbing your phone from under your pillow, you check the calendar app and realize that the date of today is Monday. You don't remember what you did yesterday, so you come to the conclusion that you must've slept throughout the entire day as usual. Well, that's fine. There's not really anything interesting to do during summer, anyway.

Yawning, you snuggle your way back underneath your flowery covers once again, intent on sleeping throughout the rest of the morning and maybe afternoon. You think you'll microwave some ramen noodles for dinner, as you don't know how to cook and your mom's out on a business trip, leaving you practically penniless and unable to order takeout. Your cat, who had been surveying you while sitting on the top of your dresser, hops off the mahogany surface of said dresser table and lays on top of your stomach, curling into your warm body until you finally doze off into a relaxing dreamless sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> wanted to give this a happy ending, so basically: rin healed you and wiped your memory of the incident using her magic. thanks rin


End file.
